


White as Snow

by miaxnder



Series: If the World [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Based on a Vocaloid Song, Dark!Hetalia, Genealogy of Red White & Black, Implied/Referenced Necrophilia, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Snow White AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-27 04:22:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19783165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miaxnder/pseuds/miaxnder
Summary: “Lovino was reluctant to remove the bright red object from where it lay in complement of Antonio’s blazing green eyes, but upon his stomach’s protest, he snatched the apple from the man's hand. He took his first bite to a melody of the prince’s lilting laugh, and as he appeased his hunger, he allowed himself to let his guard down.”---An abandoned son is comforted by his prince.---If the World: Snow White[NOTE: Can be read separately]





	White as Snow

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the tags y'all :)

The biting cold against Lovino’s skin seemed more to burn and sting than freeze, the chill only present within the chambers of his body, echoing false dangers of nature throughout his bones. It was only when he stopped to rest against the trunk of a tree, the sharp gasps of air he hungrily took in rattling in his lungs and calming the vital adrenaline rushing through his veins, that he realised the cold was merely a phantom - most likely brought to life by shortness of breath and icy fear.

In reality, the day was eerily pleasant. The sun warmed his skin, soothing him into stopping against the bark for a short while. His heaving breaths had evened out, but he was still hyper aware of the light departure of air from his lips. He was alive. He was alive. _He was alive._

He dared to dream that his danger had long departed. Far away from him, carrying the swell of pride in its heart. The thought drove Lovino’s recovered breathing to a light, breathy chuckle. It was devoid of humour, bordering more on hyperventilation, as he gasped for breath at his own stupidity. He had had no need for its wretched mercy - although perhaps that was a lie. Everything was a lie.

His family especially. Lovino had never allowed his heart to feel a great deal of _affection_ for the woman who birthed him, but he had still respected her. Nevertheless, he found his insolence was worth his life, and his respect departed on the breeze. His heart was suddenly gripped with fear once again at the memory, his once white shirt dyed red over his chest - a sign he had almost lost it. Yet all four chambers remained intact, and Lovino had survived. Despite the reassurance of his own safety for the present, Lovino still managed to find his mind weighed by great regret. 

His brother was all alone, and god knows what that damned woman could do to calm her jealousy, considering what had transpired due to her anger.

Out of spite towards the hag, he forced his mind away from the image of her, and focused on his surroundings. The area was mostly devoid of trees, disregarding the one his back rested against, and his reason warned him against staying idle here for too long. The dirt beneath his fingertips felt soft and dusty, dried out by the sun, and he watched as it was so easily displaced by his movement. The sensation was somehow calming, and he felt his heart finally slow to normal. Acknowledging his own physical discomfort, he chose to examine his legs.

His skin was littered with light scratches from the brambles and branches he had sped past, many drawing blood and in places staining his breeches to a darker brown. He ignored them however, scratches would heal. Twisting his face into a grimace, he gently pulled off his boots. His feet were red and chafed, rubbed near raw and dotted with sore, protruding blisters. His true worry seized his body with anxiety, however, when he caught sight of the purple bruising. Gently touching his swelling ankle, he flinched and reached his dreaded conclusion. His ankle was sprained. Badly.

He felt panic clutch at his lungs, restricting his breathing once again, and he desperately tried to remind himself of reality. He was alive. _He was alive_ and his ankle _would_ recover.

Raising his face to the sky, and the warm mercy of the sun’s morning rays, Lovino felt himself reluctantly resigned to sleep.

~~~

When he awoke again, it was almost evening. The sun’s position had changed in the sky, the light was beginning to orange, and his vulnerability had cost him.

He was no longer alone. 

He was frozen in place in terror. The man was crouched beside him and _far too close._ His eyes glittered in the fading light, appearing as if emeralds. Despite the beauty in the figure’s gaze, Lovino couldn’t shake the bitter taste of danger from his palate. The man smiled at him, and it felt warm. Almost gentle. “You’re awake.” 

His accent was foreign, and Lovino instantly found himself entertaining the thought that he had run far enough to escape his mother’s reach. Maybe he had reached another country, maybe they wouldn’t turn him back to her. Maybe he was safe.

But the man never stopped smiling and Lovino’s feelings of distrust reappeared. He weighed up his possible approaches, and chose to slowly inch away, digging his fingers in the dirt once again as he shuffled just out of the stranger’s reach.

He was sharp though. “Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you.”

The man had both his hands held up in surrender, his lips curling softly in comfort - and he didn’t move to touch Lovino. He refused to abandon caution, but let some of the tension ebb from his body as he inspected the foreigner. Or native, depending on his luck.

His skin was tan, and his hair dark, not unlike Lovino himself, but his eyes were still a vibrant green, their glittering brilliance lessened none by the fading light nor Lovino’s scrutinization. Soft lines traced his face, lacing his eyes and cheeks and the boy could only conclude that his unrelenting smile was no act, for he was certain age played no part in their formation. The man was larger than Lovino, taller and broader, and his shoulders were draped with animal fur. His black boots were polished impeccably, and a rapier hung at his waist - a rapier that the man removed immediately upon noting Lovino’s suspicious glance, and he threw it far enough from the two that the boy was satisfied it could not be used against him. He was a handsome man, there was no denying it, and Lovino ended his consideration on the gold circlet nested amongst chocolate curls. “You’re a Prince.”

The man just nodded, before jumping to reassure the boy. “I’m alone. My hunting party are much deeper into the woods.”

Lovino bobbed his head curtly in acknowledgement.

“I’m Antonio.” The boy didn’t reply, and simply stared in response. The prince didn’t seem fazed, though, and he stood up slowly. Lovino watched him, and he reached up without strain to pluck a fruit from the branches above them. He crouched back down and the air seemed to go still between them. There was a moment of silence as they regarded each other, and tension hung heavy over them. For once, Lovino noted, it wasn’t unpleasant. Breaking his gaze away quickly, Antonio tossed the fruit between them, before catching it right in front of his face. “Hungry?”

Lovino was reluctant to remove the bright red object from where it lay in complement of Antonio’s blazing green eyes, but upon his stomach’s protest, he snatched the apple from the man's hand. He took his first bite to a melody of the prince’s lilting laugh, and as he appeased his hunger, he allowed himself to let his guard down.

Antonio simply watched him as he ate, though Lovino felt no discomfort. The victim of neglect at his former home, the attention felt strangely welcome to Lovino - he felt for once, instead, the subject of appreciation. Guilty of vulnerability, considering his circumstances, he allowed himself to dwell on his brother’s fairytales. There was always a hero, a prince. Lovino thought that maybe, _just maybe,_ he may have found his.

When he had finished devouring the apple, he tossed the core away and met his company’s gaze. Antonio’s lips twisted upwards again, and in that moment, this particular smile of Antonio’s was reserved for Lovino alone. The boy remained trapped within brilliant jade, imprisoned by the rich jewels the prince bared for him.

“You know you look terrible.” Lovino scoffed in mock indignation as the man continued to rake his eyes across the boy’s features. He knew his face was pale, white as a sheet, most likely; he was also certain his lips were stained ruby with his own blood. And suddenly he felt undeserving of his fabricated fairytale saviour. When Antonio spoke again, it was quieter, almost a whisper - a secret fantasy of the man’s own fictitious storybook ending - and Lovino knew at once it was a muttering he was not meant to hear. “You look almost dead. You look beautiful.”

Turning to face the prince, Lovino felt like he was seeing him for the first time. All the same features, all the same clothing. The same smile. Feeling his stomach suddenly drop in the pit of his belly, he clawed at that smile with his eyes - and what he once had considered a foolish cloud of kindness, now parted to reveal a raging, burning lust.

His big mistake was remaining frozen in place. Dying as his soul was ripped from him, and he realised he had been right along about stupid fucking fairytales and their stupid fucking heroes and their even stupider unrealistic _damned_ happy endings.

Though in retrospect, perhaps that was what had saved his life.

He struggled in silence, kicking and writhing and scratching and _praying._ His voice was gone and his spirit was fading, and when hot hands gripped his wrists and a cold blade kissed his neck he truly became a corpse in his prince’s arms.

Once again his body was chilled by a searing heat, as his body was taken from him by a rhythm he didn’t want to play. He cried, silent, pained tears. He cried acid that burned his skin as it was gently lapped up, and he felt himself slowly disappearing with each scream from his insides. He detached, praying for someone, or something, just _anything,_ to destroy the monster above him, to rip him apart and tears him to pieces just as he was. Hatred and anger and cold emptiness was all he had left as he was stained white.

Left alone and exposed as night fell, Lovino thought. It was dangerous and cruel, and his mind would not let him forget. Forget how he had been denied the love he had craved. Forget how he had been betrayed. Forget what the world demanded of him. He lay amongst the shadows and tried to pick up the broken pieces of love he no longer had left, tying them together with his hatred and regret and pain and resentment.

And when Lovino finally found enough anger in his broken heart to raise him to his feet, he vowed that one day he would take Antonio’s head from him.


End file.
